


a name and a gift

by ElanorTheFair



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, Poetry, Stream of Consciousness, more or less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 09:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElanorTheFair/pseuds/ElanorTheFair
Summary: Auri likes names. They are her rock in the chaotic world around and inside her. Yet her most important name shattered long ago beyond repair...A poetic view into Auri's life as a certain musician worms his way in.





	a name and a gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoatTheBoneless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoatTheBoneless/gifts).



> It's my first work for this fandom and I hope you liked my take on Auri's thoughts. 
> 
> Have a good read and an even better year 2018,  
> <3 Ela

She has outgrown her name long ago.  
She gave every room she lives in one.  
To make them feel  
their importance,  
her gratitude to be housed,  
a promise to do good by them.

But to be true to herself,  
her most significant name should be:  
Her own.

 

FOXEN gets his name by accident -  
If you can call anything  
an accident anymore.

It may have been the way  
he winked at her,  
blue-white light drawing her in,  
keeping her from losing sight  
In the darkness of the fireplace.

Filling the new middle of her home  
with a twinkling light:

MANTLE refused any other name  
Yellow-haired,  
she was loaded with the strong  
power only a workload  
of a good true finding day  
can give you.

All had been put into  
a proper place to rest.

Foxen had unfurled himself,  
to show his underbelly,  
and to make her smile:  
a small, fluttering thing.

Still not able to rest,  
She wandered the room,  
Insides and Outsides,  
and mind and heart,  
and truth.

In the deepest hour,  
where silence and darkness  
are the same,  
Mantle finally revealed his name,  
in a whispered wish:  
to keep her safe at all times,  
to give her warmth,  
to be the room she could call home,  
her most private place.

 

PORT's name was an easy one.  
Just as their slowish and easy nature,  
the smell of the room  
lead her to the wine rack,  
the small array of corks  
laughing a small laugh  
at her choice of word.

But she had made good progress  
to feel a room's name  
so clear, so fast,  
so true.

 

VAN gets this name  
after a long time spent  
in each others company.

She is confused to find  
no echo to call out to her,  
to mock her decisions  
as the right or wrong.

So she does the mindful thing  
and takes Foxen to counsel her.

The white of the walls help,  
as does the rescue  
of their priced friend,  
the standing mirror,  
deprived of his honorable shine.

For days she helps him:  
to get his grip together,  
to find new meaning  
in the way he glimmers now.

How his wood musters her,  
the way he changes  
his posture and tries to  
give her ideas:

She is reminded of  
The color of her hair,  
The shape of her face,  
Her frame.

And then,  
After preparing herself  
for bed on the fifth day  
their name comes,  
Popping right into her mind.

 

After naming RUBRIC,  
Who mocks her a bit,  
takes delight in tricking her  
with sharp corners,  
and twists,  
and the winding of pipes  
she has to follow  
through thick and thin.

 

After naming UMBREL,  
Whose echoes follow her  
fleeting steps.

 

After finding other rooms,  
other names,  
other works to do,  
after finding and naming 

 

WITHY, DARKHOUSE,  
and CLINKS,

Who try their best to  
stay mysterious,  
but give her a way to this rooms  
nonetheless:

THE TWELVE,  
everchanging,  
one of the wildest,  
truest places  
here in the Underthing.

Clever combining their  
wisdom of knowing oneself,  
taking their bravery out of  
being just that.

Though safety or kindness  
was not always their priority,  
this place captured  
her high regards.

After using  
THE YELLOW TWELVE's grace  
to gift her a bath.

A place for finding things,  
on the white days,  
this one saw herself:

In her new friend,  
the mirror. 

In Foxen's animated flickering,  
imitating her hair at it's best.

In the resourceful peace  
of this newest place;

Seeing her soul as something  
to hope for.

 

And after finding all her places here,  
she is alone with herself again.  
Alone with her darker days,  
as with her small collection of findings,  
which amass faster  
than she can find  
The right food for herself.

 

She keeps a grip on herself,  
Mostly.

 

There is still light around her,  
In Van the silent one  
you need to squint for, 

In The Twelve the necessary kind,  
she feels thankful for it,  
on the wilder days.

In Foxen's dish,  
for all the other rooms.

 

The dress watches her  
in the mirror.  
The food slowly wanes,  
again.

 

And on a kind summer night,  
she decides to go out of  
the Underthing and to  
look for apples or berries,  
or anything else.

 

Before she can take her leave  
she hears the most beautiful thing.

She cannot believe herself,  
to have forgotten  
the sound  
of music.

And this music is big,  
important in its innocence,  
wise beyond its years.

 

She forgets the gnawing mice  
in her stomach,  
delighted in the wings  
the lute evokes in her.

 

Her curiosity has awakened.  
She studies the musician  
for over a month.

Her space is still a sacred thing,  
it is a heavy thing  
to bear in her heart.

Her trust is still fluttery,  
like a young butterfly.

 

He has fire in his hair,  
in his hands,  
in his eyes,  
on his tongue.  
That makes her wonder.

 

But he is worth the fight,  
trough her darkest days.  
With the lock  
around her heart,  
somehow,  
he has no quarry,  
as he has his lute.  
His music as a key.

 

After nights filled with  
Watching, talking, eating.

Fighting against the  
crows in her heart.

Coming back.

Growing a seedling behind  
her waning walls.

The night comes,  
when the talking ends up at  
her most important question.

 

And he finds no reason  
to unknow her  
for her hurt,  
to talk about her,  
for her silences,  
to un-trust her,  
for her unknowing.

Instead,  
He gifts her with  
A precious thing.  
She had not asked  
for this kind of gift.

 

Her eyes could have  
blabbed on her.  
Maybe it was the way  
her hands wrung  
each other  
around him.

 

He gifts her with a  
new name anyway.

A name so fitting,  
the seedling in her heart  
starts blooming.

 

A name like the warmth  
in the roof tiles underneath her feet.

Like the color in her hair.

Like her laughter.

Like the sun.

 

Happiness is a blessing to  
her overworked and worried heart,  
and she is grateful  
for this peace she is gifted.

 

Auri vows to herself:  
'This is the one I will believe in,  
with his nature in mind - and mine,  
this is the one I will shelter,  
in his time of need.'

'This is Kvothe, my friend,  
who looks like one of the Ciridea.  
I will keep him safe.'

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift for Tumblr user coat-the-boneless as part of the kkc secret Santa gift exchange 2017. He is a cool bean.


End file.
